


Saturday Afternoon Fever

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [172]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love and coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Afternoon Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting  
> My former betas: Alex, Ula, and Padawan Sue
> 
> Their erotic adventures with Ian's fuck-me jeans are detailed in [Good Jeans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4260093).  
>   
> To Stacey

"Hi, Professor!"  
  
"Hey, Becca. Good to see you," Ian said when he reached the front of the line in their favorite neighborhood coffee shop on Alder Run's main street, Cream and Sugar. Becca was one of the students in his Rebels and Romantics course, and she'd been working as a barista for a couple of years to earn money for her books and little luxuries.  
  
"Would you and Professor Masterson like your usual today?" Becca asked with a smile.  
  
"Yes, please." Ian watched as she expertly made a mocha cappuccino for Quinn and a hazelnut latte for him. He put her tip in the jar, then picked up the drinks, a bit of Quinn's cream dripping onto his thumb. He scanned the crowd, looking for his husband.  
  
Today was Jazz Saturday at the coffee house, and the competition for seating was fierce, especially since a lot of folks stretched their food and drink to last much of the afternoon. While Ian was on line, Quinn had had to carry a chair over from the other side of the shop, so he and Ian could sit together. Quinn waved at his lad, hoping his height would make it easier to see him in the throng.  
  
Dressed in a Luke tee and faded jeans, which were mercifully the right size, Ian looked like a college kid himself to Quinn. His lad knew better than to go out in the prized pair that were almost ruined by an alluring combination of rips, stains, and frays. Quinn would have been hard the whole time.  
  
Ah, Ian gave a little wave back and was coming towards him. Quinn had started to sweat with the press of people surrounding him, which only increased at the sight of Ian licking cream off his finger. He had to open a window now. Ah, the April breeze blew cool over his cheeks, just what he needed. A white-blossomed dogwood tree stood proudly just outside the window, incongruously surrounded by little patches of snow, stray petals scattered by the breeze in a springtime waltz. Petals and snow made for an unusual dance between seasons, and the blooms were hard to see against the snowy background. Some blossoms blew in, since the coffeehouse hadn't put up its seasonal screens yet, giving Quinn an even more immediate taste of the outdoors.  
  
Ian almost spilled the drinks when he saw Quinn leaning over to open the window. His husband's jeans were pulled taut over his backside and thighs, catching Ian off-guard. Now he knew, and could feel viscerally, what Quinn went through when Ian wore his fuck-me jeans. If they hadn't taken the edge off this morning, his own jeans would be even more revealing right now. He sat down across from Quinn, grateful for the concealment of the table until he could settle down a bit.  
  
Mercifully, Quinn turned and sat across from him quickly. Crinkled eyes smiled into his, and Ian forgot all about his coffee.  
  
"Oh, I've been waiting for this," Quinn said on a sigh. The breeze blew his hair back, and Ian just drank him in, infinitely better than the coffee he was about to taste, forgetting everything else for one blissful moment.  
  
"So have I," Ian grinned into dazzling blue eyes. "They actually said it's gonna hit 60 today."  
  
"Feels warmer already," said Quinn, the warmth of his gaze making Ian feel warmer, too. Quinn was thankful he was in shirtsleeves, enjoying the feel of the breeze stirring the little hairs on his arms.  
  
Ian blew on his latte, earning a playful scowl from Quinn. "First decent temperature in forever."  
  
"Even Alder Run has to thaw out sometime," Quinn said, sitting back in his chair and stretching out his legs.  
  
"Let's take the long way round when we head for home." Ian took a tentative sip.  
  
Quinn nodded. "Sounds good. I've been itching to use the bike path again."  
  
"How 'bout biking in to work on Monday?" Ian asked.  
  
"Grand idea, lad. They've extended the bike lane beyond Espanson Hall now, so we can even ride to class."  
  
Mr. Jefferson, one of their neighbors across the street, smiled at them as he got his coffee to go, and they smiled back, happy to see him taking advantage of the beautiful spring day.  
  
The jazz flowed at just the right volume -- rich, full sound that didn't overwhelm the chatter swirling through the music. The sax hit a particularly mellow vibe that became part of the conversations. At the end of each meandering set, most of the customers, including the professors, clapped in appreciation.  
  
Quinn's iPad was on the table. "I've been skimming my backlog of e-mails from yesterday." He winked at Ian, who was the only one who knew what had distracted the both of them so thoroughly. "The Registrar's office has confirmed that Dean Smith lost his appeal in the University Senate."  
  
"Has he ever really had any appeal?" Ian drawled.  
  
Quinn chuckled. "You'd be surprised. He almost got Danny Walker to change his major a few years ago."  
  
Ian shivered involuntarily, attributing it to the breeze streaming onto his face. "I didn't know that."  
  
Quinn nodded. "Danny told me he felt all but forced into it." He took a bracing sip of his coffee. "But, as you've said before, it's history now."  
  
"Exactly!" Ian clinked their mugs together.  
  
Quinn's lips quirked up. "Back to the here and now for a moment. The important thing is that Smith can no longer block our kids from advanced History courses, if they have the pre-requisites." He savored his triumph with the last sip of his cappuccino. So this was what it felt like to defeat the dreaded Smith in a fair fight!  
  
"Congratulations!" Ian reached over to high-five Quinn. "He didn't stand a chance." He knew better than to get cream on his lips on purpose, but a little bit coated his lower lip anyway as he finished off his drink with a gulp.  
  
Quinn looked on, partly with indulgence, partly with something more primal. Sure enough, the tip of his lad's tongue peeked out and swiped at the cream. Definitely time to go.  
  
Ian bussed their mugs, giving Quinn a minute to think Hothly thoughts before he had to get up. They didn't take the long way round, after all, since Quinn set a fast pace home, the better to pounce on his laddie as soon as they were through the door.  
  
Of course, Artoo and Sandy pounced on them first, so they played with their puppies and fed them. By the time Ian closed the bedroom door with a sultry smile, Quinn was ready to tear his clothes off.  
  
And Ian knew it.  
  
He sauntered over to Quinn, hips swaying jauntily. "Wanna taste of my latte, handsome?"  
  
Quinn swooped in without bothering to answer. Avidly licking the glaze from Ian's lips and tongue, and drinking from his luscious mouth, Quinn had a more satisfying caffeine rush than coffee alone could ever give him.  
  
Ian heard himself make little sounds as Quinn drank from him, relishing his husband's aggressiveness. He loved bringing Quinn to a boil, especially on weekends, when they had time to play.  
  
Those little sounds drove Quinn wild, and also drove him to shove his huge hands under Ian's t-shirt in a desperate quest for skin. Ah, success! Skin creamier than the whipped cream he'd just finished and much more delicious. While his fingers roamed over Ian's chest, sides, and back, Quinn's mouth tasted spots hotter than his cappuccino.  
  
Ian wriggled in Quinn's arms, thrilling in being thoroughly petted and wetted. "So good!" he said, in a breathless combination of grunt and moan.  
  
Quinn looked up at him with a lopsided grin. "I do my best, laddie mine." So saying, he grabbed Ian by the waist and lugged him to the bed. Deep green eyes shone up at Quinn, showing him he'd made the right move without a word. He covered Ian with a single aikido move, trying to make his lad wriggle for him again.  
  
It worked.  
  
"Ahh!" Ian groaned as he wriggled under Quinn, revelling in his husband's arousal -- his overheated skin, smoldering even through cloth; his sweat sealing their foreheads together; his cock trying to rip its way through four layers of fabric and standing a good chance of succeeding.  
  
Quinn's grin became even more crooked as his hips picked up steam. He made a valiant attempt to pull Ian's shirt over his head, while still butting his denim-trapped cock into his laddie's stomach. Ian used his wiggling to help him, or he never would have pulled it off.  
  
As soon as Quinn threw his tee to the floor, Ian pulled him down so he could rub his bare chest and stomach against Quinn's cottony warmth. He purred in contentment at the sublime feeling. "Love you," he whispered, tilting his chin up for a kiss.  
  
"Love you, lad." Quinn devoted himself to their kiss, sinking into Ian, forgetting everything else around them.  
  
Ian's hands eased under Quinn's heather-grey shirt, sliding over his sweaty back, trying to cover as much skin as possible. He was rewarded with little huffs of air tickling his lips. Trying to push the front of Quinn's tee up was more difficult, plastered together at the chest as they were. Ian chuckled at the situation -- neither of them were willing to move apart, even to be skin to skin.  
  
Ian's chuckles tickled Quinn's lips, as well. "Okay, okay, laddie," Quinn said as he got to his knees so he could strip off the offending shirt. He noted with satisfaction the exact moment when Ian's amusement surged to arousal.  
  
Looking up at the acres of Quinn so close to his hands and mouth, Ian growled, "C'mere!"  
  
Quinn was more than happy to oblige and was back on top of Ian in a pounce quicker than any aikido move. He grinned at his husband's stunned expression. "Well, you did ask. Or rather, command," Quinn said with a wry smile. "And I know an order when I hear one, General." He gave a smart salute, impressive given his recumbent position.  
  
Ian was too pleased with his new Quinn blanket to quibble over semantics. 'Perhaps sementics, instead,' he thought mischievously. "Well, then, kiss me," he said imperiously, the bellicose effect ruined when he couldn't suppress a laugh afterwards.  
  
Quinn laughed too, and the kiss was enriched by their shared laughter. First, chuckles, then full-out body laughs; this was proving to be their favorite kind of sex, filled with love and fun. What could be better? He felt relaxed, loose, and oh-so good, as he nuzzled Ian's cheek, right by the corner of his lips. 3 o'clock whiskers were there, springing up to tickle his face in the lushness of the afternoon.  
  
Rubbing back in a slow, teasing glide, Ian reminded Quinn of his innate sensuality. "You're a cheeky one today, laddie mine," Quinn said in a lazy lilt, as he licked that tempting cheek.  
  
"You really think y'can out-pun me, huh?" said Ian, his competitive streak fully engaged.  
  
"Never, lad," Quinn said with a straight face, ruffling Ian's whiskers with his breath.  
  
Ian savored Quinn's weight on top of him; it reminded him of the heavy quilt his grandmother had sent him off to Georgeton with -- all comfort and delight.  
  
Already sweaty with arousal, their chests grew steadily slicker as they rubbed together while the men kissed and kissed. All traces of their coffee were long gone and their natural flavors came shining through.  
  
Thoroughly absorbed in their dance, they only gradually grew aware of the inevitable side effects of friction. Grinding into each other became almost painful, as their cocks met unyielding metal and denim.  
  
"Gotta get these off," Ian huffed impatiently.  
  
A little bit breathless himself, Quinn forced himself to move up an inch, so he could push his huge hand between them to unbutton and unzip first Ian's, and then his own jeans.  
  
Ian let out an eloquent sigh as his trapped cock pushed its way out of two wet layers of cloth, in a desperate quest to reach Quinn's. Luckily, his husband was just as eager to join him. Finally, the two met in an exhilarating glide, all the better for the wait.  
  
Ah, the feel of Ian's erection against his own! Each fractional move brought Quinn the most exquisite pleasure. He suckled and licked at Ian's lips, earning enticing moans from his lad.  
  
Ian's virtuoso hips wrung the maximum enjoyment from both of them. Undeterred by 200 pounds of out-of-control husband on top of him, he led the dance, thrusting into Quinn with glorious improvisation, reminiscent of the jazz they'd been drawn in by earlier.  
  
Quinn tried to hold back, greedy for more, but he was overpowered by Ian's taste, scent, and feel -- an ever-potent combination. He roared as he came onto Ian's hot skin and rumpled clothes, shuddering into his laddie until every last pulse had subsided.  
  
Dimly, Quinn heard Ian's cries of "Please, please!" and made a herculean effort to rouse himself enough to bring his lad off. He rolled off Ian, surprised there were no audible creaks, then wrapped his fingers around Ian's straining cock, focusing only on his pleasure. Knowing that the callus on his thumb had turned him on before, Quinn made sure to rub it against Ian's tender foreskin.  
  
Whimpering and wiggling as Quinn rubbed him the right way, Ian pushed himself even further into Quinn's hand. His "Qui-" was interrupted by his herven driving his tongue into his mouth. Quinn's hand and tongue found the perfect rhythm, and it was his turn to lead the dance now.  
  
Ian couldn't last under this coordinated approach and spilled into his husband's hand, shouting incoherently.  
  
Licking his hand with a spicy grin, Quinn used his discarded shirt to clean up both of them.  
  
This Saturday afternoon had been more feverish than they ever could have imagined.


End file.
